


we form constellations

by phant0m



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, One Shot Collection, more tags will be added as needed, so far this is just a lot of fluff and hurt/comfort content for the most part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-08-11 05:19:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16469516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phant0m/pseuds/phant0m
Summary: a collection of requests and other short fics.(1. reishu + general fluff featuring mademoiselle | 2. izuritsu + general fluff with a touch of angst | 3. izu(leo)kasa + izumi musing about tsukasa | 4. leokasa + leo overhearing tsukasa | 5. kaoshu + shu comforting kaoru after a nightmare | 6. torikasa + tsukasa sharing a parfait with tori | 7. shuleo + taking measurements and having difficult conversations)





	1. dearest ones | reishu

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to a collection of enstars one shots! currently, the only chapters of this collection will be fics i wrote by request, but i'm sure you'll see other bits and pieces appear here over time. if you ever want to talk, you can catch me on twitter as [kingsiderook](http://twitter.com/kingsiderook)!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was a request from alice, who asked for reishu fluff featuring mademoiselle. enjoy! ♡

Night has long since fallen on Yumenosaki, yet it finds Shu heedless of its presence. Wrapped in a shroud of silence and crowned with a halo of dim lamplight, he continues his work ceaselessly, needle through thread, stitch after meticulous stitch. The fabric he works with is fine, the pattern small, his slender hands steady. His thoughts are narrowed to a singular point of focus, and the burning in the backs of his eyes that indicates perhaps he should have stopped an hour ago goes unnoticed.

Then, a gentle rap on the door of the club room, and he pauses, raises his head.

“ _Oh, a visitor! How delightful! Who is it?_ ”

His voice is always softer through Mademoiselle, the words easier, her presence across the table like a conduit. He clenches his jaw around the question, _who could possibly be here at this hour_ , but the question is less of a _who_ and more of a _what._

Rei never more resembles a creature of the night than when he’s gotten a full day’s worth of sleep, and now is no exception. He enters like a shadow, waves of black hair that mingle with the darkness and bright crimson eyes that cut right through it, pointed fangs glinting in the positively remarkable smile that pours across his face when his gaze meets Shu’s. “Mm, how did I know I’d find you here, Itsuki-kun?”

Shu clears his throat to try to stifle the decidedly undignified little spike in his pulse, carefully setting his work aside in favor of folding his arms across his chest. “Perhaps because I am always here?”

Nudging the door closed behind him, Rei crosses the room in strides, every movement bringing him through webs of moonlight filtering through the windows and further into the warm glow cast by the table lamp. Silver and gold roll off of him in waves, and he huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Now, now. There’s no reason to be that way, you know.”

“What _way_ is that, exactly?”

Shu knows, of course, and Rei is standing across the table giving him this charmingly bemused look like he knows that too. It’s likely that he does. He knows everything, but says nothing. Instead, he casts his eyes down at the tools strewn across the table, the fabric, Mademoiselle. He settles a hand on her flawless curls, so gentle with his touch that it makes Shu’s heart ache in turn. “Sewing this lovely little lady a new dress, are we?”

Rei calls her lovely, and never questions her. It’s one of the many reasons Shu has him categorized amongst the few things in this world he considers perfect.

“Yes,” he says, a note of warmth creeping into his voice now, an undertone of pride that he’s allowed to have, here. “It will be a masterpiece. Exquisite. Nothing less for her.”

Idly stroking Mademoiselle’s hair, Rei shakes his head again, still smiling that same fond smile. “Of course it will be. Anything your hands touch becomes a masterpiece.” It’s really quite unfair, how he just _does that_ , looks so divine it makes Shu’s fingers twitch with longing and lets the most devastatingly perfect words spill from his lips without a second thought.

How he makes Shu feel worth it.

“Hm. Then I suppose that would explain you,” Shu murmurs, and he doesn’t quite intend the thought to be spoken aloud, but the way Rei _looks_ at him when he says it. His eyes full of adoration, full of life, soft and gentle and wonderfully blooming life; the sort none of them thought they’d see in him again, but that Shu seems to be seeing more and more lately. Heat flushes across the nape of his neck with such intensity he has to look down, fuss with lace, busy his hands. Cutting off any sort of response, he coughs delicately, sliding a few inches across the bench nestled at the table to allow room and an abrupt change of subject. “If you came seeking company…”

Rei actually hesitates at the unspoken invitation, and though Shu doesn’t dare glance up, he can read the delighted surprise in how the atmosphere changes. “Are you certain? I merely dropped in to bother you. I wouldn’t want to intrude upon your time with your dearest one.”

Another of the many reasons.

 _As though you don’t share that title,_ Shu doesn’t say.

Instead, he makes an offended little _hmph_ noise in the back of his throat, contradicting the small smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth, and threads ribbon through his fingers like he intends to continue his work regardless of the answer. “Don’t be foolish, Rei. I am offering you a privilege, you know. If you would rather decline, that is your decision.”

“Fufu. Are you really assuming I’d ever turn down such a _privilege_?” Of course Rei sits far nearer than is necessary, winds his arms around Shu’s waist, rests his head on Shu’s shoulder, because he won’t ever admit that he needs this. Likewise, Shu won’t ever admit that it feels too easy to shift to welcome it, too simple to accommodate for him. It’s a lot of him all at once, his hands always cold but his body so comfortably warm, though not quite as warm as the flush that’s climbing higher over Shu’s face. He wonders if Rei can hear his racing heartbeat, this close, and if Rei’s voice is quieter to give it space to speak. “I may go so far as to question which of us is actually foolish.”

“Needn’t I remind you that title _always_ belongs to you,” Shu says, but it’s too much of a whisper to read as any sort of slight. Rei moves, and Shu can feel the breath of his laughter against his cheek, followed by something much softer: Rei’s lips against his skin, just a brief haunting of a kiss, and he’s _burning_. The thought of his work almost slips from his mind even as Rei settles in again, yet --

“Don’t let me interrupt you.” Rei’s tone is a tad too knowing, but soothing nonetheless, a welcome wave of calm smoothing over his fraught nerves. Shu sighs, briefly closing his eyes to organize his scattered thoughts, because yes, he can do this. He can refrain from letting just one thing consume him. Rei has taught him that. Rei has taught him several things he can’t find the words to be grateful for.

So he sews, stitch after meticulous stitch. His hands are a bit less steady, but neither of them seem to mind. Not too long from now, the sun will rise again, but for the moment the night finds all three of them heedless of its presence. Time does not reach them. Instead, all that exists within the club room is the golden light and the comfortable quiet, Mademoiselle watching as Rei watches him. The feeling of Rei against him, soft words exhaled in this space that is only theirs, soft touches exchanged when Rei prompts them. Some even when he doesn’t.

In the endless night, Shu wonders if it’s truly Rei who’s privileged, or rather himself.

Perhaps it can be both.


	2. reflections, refractions | izuritsu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was a request from someone who asked for izuritsu fluff and anything else i wanted. naturally, being me, i added a little bit of what you could call angst. enjoy! ♡

Izumi stares at his reflection in the mirror, huffing irritably as he fixes his bangs for what feels like the hundredth time. They look fine, really. It’s mainly just habit, something to give his body a purpose while his mind is elsewhere, floating somewhere in the quiet corners of the Knights practice room. Their King, that idiot, likes to call it Sena House.

It feels like it should be called anything but.

Knights is evolving, after all. They have a different name now than they did back when he was leading them across the battlefield. A better name. They have a different feeling, and he’s not sure if that feeling has space for him. Like family, they all say, but Izumi still remembers telling them all he’d happily quit after his role in DDD, still remembers feeling like this ragtag group was just something he was holding together in case Leo returned, and now that he has -- where does Izumi fit? He’s not them, not easy or approachable or sweet or fun, not anything close, never will be, and perhaps it aches more than he’d care to admit.

Knights is leaving him behind.

Lost in thought, Izumi doesn’t even register the movement behind him in the mirror until it’s too late, until arms are encircling his waist and sharp fangs are digging gently into his shoulder, and he jumps, twisting his head to level a glare at Ritsu. “What the fuck, Kuma-kun?”

Ritsu blinks at him slowly, like a drowsy cat who can’t have done anything wrong in its life, and releases him from the playful bite to smile. “Secchan was thinking too much about so~mething. I had to get your attention. What’s on your mind, hm?”

Izumi frowns, looking back at the mirror and fluffing up his bangs again. He really doesn’t want to have this conversation in general, but especially not when Ritsu is hardly awake. His eyes drift back towards the futon Ritsu has left abandoned and thoroughly tousled, landing on the bear plush he’d evidently been cuddled up with, and he bites his tongue. “God. Can you at least, like, not sleep with that thing where other people can see you? It’s sooo embarrassing.”

Ritsu presses closer to him, nuzzling into his back with something like a yawn, and Izumi’s heart feels like it wrenches in his chest. They’ve been whatever they are long enough for him to know that Ritsu is always incredibly clingy, most prominently when he’s just pulled himself out of a nap, but this is a bit _much_ right now. “You’re the one who gave it to me, so you’re the one who’s embarrassing, though? Don’t change the subject.”

“Fuck off.” Sighing, Izumi runs a hand through his hair. Of course Ritsu isn’t going to drop it so easily, but hasn’t he spilled enough of his ugliness to all of them by now? How does he even word something like this? Just the thought leaves an unpleasant copper taste spreading on his tongue. Nonetheless, Ritsu butts his head into Izumi’s back, clearly prompting him, and he clenches his jaw, staring anywhere but at himself.

“This is so stupid,” he prefaces as though out of instinct, “and I don’t even know how to say it. Ugh. I guess… Have you ever felt like you don’t know what the hell you’re doing here? With all of us?”

There’s silence for the space of several heartbeats, enough to spike Izumi’s own heart rate, raise goosebumps on his arms, make him regret ever even broaching this topic, _you really are stupid so just take it back while you still can_ , but then--

Ritsu’s grip on him loosens. “Nn. Turn around, Secchan.”

So he does, an involuntary response to the command, and Ritsu’s hands run up his back instead. He’s giving Izumi this far too lovely look, still a bit lazy around the edges but much more alive and inquisitive, and Izumi’s own hands clench into fists at his sides.

“I used to,” Ritsu answers simply, tilting his head a bit, “but then I realized this place could be my home, too, you know? Maybe you could realize that, or maybe not. It doesn’t really matter. Isn’t that fine?”

“It matters,” Izumi responds without thinking, swallowing hard, “because I’m not like all of you. Even now that Ousama is back, he’s all giddy and bouncing around with that idiotic _I love you_ nonsense like nothing ever happened to him, and I’m…”

“Mean? Grumpy? Bad?” Ritsu finishes with a teasing tone, his gaze glimmering with mirth and his fangs flashing in a smirk. Izumi blinks at him. “For someone who’s always calling everyone else an idiot, you sure are one yourse~lf.”

“Kuma-kun--”

Ritsu interrupts all of the forthcoming bitter words by moving to lay his hands on Izumi’s cheeks, and Izumi grabs his wrists to pull them away -- _skin oils, stop it, and what the fuck don’t touch me after what you just said_ \-- but he won’t budge, the damn vampire. “You do this thing where you have high standards for people because you have unattainable ones for yourself,” he says passively, and Izumi’s hold on him goes slack. “But Knights is us. Secchan is Secchan. Mean and grumpy, beautiful and kind Secchan. This home wouldn’t be the same without you.” He runs his thumb up over Izumi’s cheek to catch a tear Izumi himself hadn’t noticed forming and leans closer, eyes lidded in this sort of irresistible adoration. “It wouldn’t be my home if Secchan wasn’t here, too.”

Izumi doesn’t even get the chance to breathe before Ritsu is kissing him, and he makes a weak sort of sound against Ritsu’s lips, hands sliding to his shoulders, fingers curling into his shirt to hold him. Everything aligns with this, an extension of those words, praise and softness and love that he feels so foolish for forgetting all exist for him, and it leaves him lightheaded. He’s trying not to cry when Ritsu only kisses him again, sweeter, his touch warm, everything warm, and he’s thinking of everything and nothing at once, but mostly -- maybe this can be home. Maybe this is home.

He inhales shakily when Ritsu finally pulls back enough to let him, eyes only fluttering open when he presses their foreheads together. He always looks at Izumi like he’s something special. Somewhere, he may be starting to believe it. “Over it now, or do I need to kiss you more?”

“Yeah,” Izumi murmurs, his chest full of warmth, and he can’t believe that he actually almost starts laughing. “Yeah, I’m going to need about thirty of those.”

“Spoiled,” Ritsu drawls, as if he _isn’t_ , leaning away to stifle a proper yawn with the back of his hand. “More than thirty, but Secchan has to come sleep with me first. I’m tired.”

Of course. Izumi rolls his eyes. “We have practice.”

“Nope,” Ritsu supplies helpfully, finally letting Izumi go only to take one of his hands in his own. He’s lacing their fingers together and pulling a stumbling Izumi towards the futon before he can even comprehend what’s happening. “Ousama is somewhere off in space again and Suuchan is trying to find him, which always takes hours, so you have me a~ll to yourself.”

Izumi could probably think of at least six more reasons to object if he tried, but Ritsu’s grip is tight and he ends his last statement with a wink and Izumi is, in fact, spoiled, so he doesn’t try. The futon isn’t quite big enough for two people, and it’s more than a little uncomfortable in his uniform, but as Ritsu settles snug against his chest with one arm around him and one around that ridiculous bear plush, Izumi finds he can overlook it.

Listening to Ritsu’s breathing evening out, feeling the rise and fall of it under the hand he lets rest on Ritsu’s waist, everything else seems to even out as well. It’s not quite right yet, but maybe it will be, and besides, there’s at least one person who will call him beautiful even when he’s being ugly. At least one person that makes him feel like he belongs. At least one who won’t leave him behind. It could be fleeting or it could be forever. It doesn’t matter.

Isn’t that fine?  



	3. until you | izu(leo)kasa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was a request from lucas, who asked for izukasa fluff featuring izumi musing about how special and important tsukasa is. he also requested some side izuleokasa. enjoy! ♡

A frigid December’s night has brought a gentle snow along with it, the light and fluffy sort that settles in Izumi’s scarf and crunches under his shoes as he walks aimlessly. Around him, the other members of Knights are fluttering amongst elaborate displays of lights; he catches Ritsu’s lazy smile, some sort of delicate comment from Arashi about how _romantic_ it all is, Tsukasa yelping indignantly as Leo throws his arms around him. The usual fare, all of which he’s becoming more and more accustomed to, like the melody of a song he couldn’t quite recall but has spent a lifetime waiting to hear again. He’d protested this initially, making a grand statement out of how they didn’t have the _time_ to be wandering around a light show, but here their laughter blooms a garden of sentimentality within his chest.

They weren’t always like this, after all. In fact, they shouldn’t be even now. Knights, or whatever its name may have been at the time, was in many ways nothing more than a phantom of a unit haunting its own history. Members came and went at their leisure, peasants and leaders, in the end all simply pieces without places to be found on the board; for all its lineage, it never had a castle to call its own. It was never anything more than a band of fools and miscreants. It was never intended to be a family. It was never intended to be a home.

Not until Tsukasa.

Izumi still remembers his own role in this. The day their King had vanished, leaving Izumi alone with nothing but stains of drying blood and strains of songs half-remembered. How he’d seen Leo later, malnourished and unkempt and trembling, the shattered dreams of their youth reflected in his glassy eyes. How he knew, then, that it was over, but he kept his promise anyway. Fighting for a dead cause through the chaos and the gunfire, the shadow of a genius he could never possibly live up to, his own mistakes. Day by monochrome day, fracture by hopeless fracture.

He remembers how annoyed he had been when this beautiful brat showed up at their doorstep, brilliant galactic eyes glimmering like he knew nothing of loss but had everything to gain, and vowed that he would save them. He would mend them. He would do what Izumi couldn’t: bring their King back to his abandoned throne and restore Knights to the glory it was ridiculous to think they’d ever possessed in the first place.

How foolish Izumi had thought he was, sweet and innocent and destined for failure. How wrong he’d turn out to be.

When the time came, Tsukasa was the one to defend them. Their King had returned, true, but he’d upended the throne, laid siege upon his own knights, and though they fought until dawn on that stage it was Tsukasa who caught the sunrise in his hands. His frantic heartbeat like a caged bird who’d never known flight but his words like the first spreading of wings in a boundless sky; he would keep them, he’d decided, even if it meant tasting his own blood. This boy who held no claim to their name, yet drew his sword to protect it without hesitation, gave not an inch in the war for their fate. This boy who wove their tragic tale into something triumphant, demanded that their faithless epitaph be rewritten into a tapestry of fable and legend.

There was nothing left, and then there was him, bursting technicolor.

Now, it’s always him. Tsukasa’s youthful innocence and vibrant pride, gracefully mature and recklessly enthusiastic in equal measure. Tsukasa reigning in their mad King and proclaiming them all the most valiant of knights -- repeating it until they finally started to listen. Tsukasa’s voice asking them, again and again, to offer their wounded and aching burdens to him, as if he wants to take them like something tangible and bear them all himself. Tsukasa’s shining presence like a beacon to welcome them home, because he’s made it one. Those radiant eyes still shimmering the whole time, like he knows everything of loss but has yet even more to gain.

 _You can glue a cracked diamond back together, but it’s no longer valuable_ , Izumi had said to him once, scathing and bitter and seething with guilt. Yet as if it was the most elementary thing in the world, Tsukasa had replied, _once it blooms, isn’t it still a flower that came from the same roots? Wouldn’t you be able to love it again?_

Izumi hadn’t been sure about that then, but now, he thinks, yes. Love it again, and anew, as if it were never wilted to begin with.

“You have been here for a terribly long time, Sena-senpai. What are you thinking about?”

Tsukasa is hovering warily next to him, as if unsure if he should intrude upon the moment. Winding lines of lights Izumi has long since stopped in front of form an elegant bouquet of roses, but he turns away from it, focused on something far more captivating. The flecks of snow caught in Tsukasa’s hair, how the cold pinks his cheeks, the warm golden light framing him and reflecting in his gaze.

Izumi had thought nothing of him when he first saw him. Now, he can’t find the words to describe how much he thinks of him.

“I told you that you don’t always have to call me that, you brat,” he scoffs, which isn’t an answer, but Tsukasa is shivering. He’d _told_ him to dress more warmly -- really, when did he become the caretaker here? Absentmindedly, he pulls his scarf off, wrapping it around Tsukasa’s neck instead, and it’s gracious of him to feign not noticing that the flush on Tsukasa’s cheek may have darkened at the gesture. “It’s way too formal. Aren’t you the one always saying we’re all the same?”

“R-right. Well--”

“It was nothing important.” Izumi’s tone is softer now even as he waves a dismissive hand, but of course Tsukasa gets that impossible look on his face; that perceptive look that says _I know you are hiding something, please tell me, let me help_. Precious, really, and a touch bittersweet that he still expects the worst even now. He deserves more than that. Despite, Izumi rolls his eyes. “God, you’re a pain. It wasn’t anything bad either, so quit looking at me like that.”

“Ah,” Tsukasa exhales, relaxing into a smile that’s far too fond, that makes Izumi’s pulse race far too quickly. “I am glad, then. It is a joyous night, is it not? We should all be enjoying it to the fullest.”

The way he speaks, like everything is always so simple. Maybe it is. “Who says I’m not?” Izumi asks, reaching out to gently brush a snowflake from Tsukasa’s nose and watching as his eyes widen and his lips part to form a question that doesn’t come. Definitely precious. Izumi smiles at the sight. “Being here with you can be enough for that, you know.”

He leans in to press a kiss to Tsukasa’s forehead, lingering for a satisfying moment as Tsukasa stutters out something that doesn’t even seem to be attempting at a sentence. It turns out that moment is a bit too long.

“Hey, hey, hey! Who said you two could have all the fun without me? That’s not fair~ Totally unfair!”

It’s a blessing that Leo is light, because even still the force with which he pounces on both of them is nearly enough to knock them over. Tsukasa probably yells _Leader_ , but it’s hard to tell when his head butts into Izumi’s jaw as they stumble in the snow, and Leo has an arm around each of them, a riotous bundle of energy that just won’t be contained. Izumi grumbles even with his smile still lingering, elbowing Leo in the side, but that doesn’t seem to dissuade him at all. “Ugh, get _off_ , idiot.”

Leo only barks one of his wild laughs in response, planting kisses on each of their cheeks as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. If Tsukasa was only lightly blushing before, he _absolutely_ is now, and Izumi chooses to pretend the sudden rush of warmth is due to adrenaline rather than anything else. “Nope, no can do. You’re stuck with me forever, forever and ever, until the planets themselves explode and burn out! You’ve got this little delinquent to thank for that, so be sure to thank him lots!”

He ruffles Tsukasa’s hair, and between Leo’s words and Tsukasa’s visible sulking, Izumi can’t help but start laughing. There are objections, he’s sure, plenty of _I am_ not _a delinquent, Leader_ , but they’re merely background noise. Yes, he has much to thank Tsukasa for, Leo being one of the things on that list, and this feeling another. Happiness, he realizes, like with these lights drowning out the stars and their Knights finally breathing as one, the lyrics to that forgotten melody are coming back to him piece by piece.

He thinks that they may sound something like hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> while there are many story references in this fic, i feel it important to note that the "you can glue a cracked diamond back together" / "wouldn't you be able to love it again" dialogue izumi remembers here is taken more or less directly from [phantom thieves vs detectives - revelations 1](http://ensemble-stars.wikia.com/wiki/Phantom_Thieves_VS_Detectives).


	4. trajectory | leokasa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was a request from leo, who asked for leokasa featuring leo overhearing one of tsukasa's monologues about him. they also requested a kiss. enjoy! ♡

Leo is the most maddening thing Tsukasa has ever known. Every time they meet, it’s as if two stars passing by one another in the night sky, one full of desperate questions and the other with answers it isn’t willing to give; space, always space. Just earlier today, he’d thought they were finally getting somewhere when Leo slipped through his fingers yet again, all cryptic words like a map with no destination and wild laughter to the sun. One moment he was there, the next like seafoam of a wave crashing on shore. Brief, beautiful, and gone.

“It’s like trying to catch smoke,” he’s saying to Arashi, who’s been patiently listening while applying a careful masterpiece of eyeliner. Tsukasa himself is pacing the practice room like a boy possessed, and he isn’t sure when the thought of Leo made him quite so chaotic. “It is so thoroughly infuriating, Narukami-senpai. If he did not wish to listen to me, to truly take up the mantle of our Leader -- no, our King -- then why did he come back? Was it merely to taunt me?”

Arashi laughs, not unkindly. “I doubt it, but that’s a question you should be asking him, you know?”

Tsukasa sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “It isn’t as though I haven’t tried, yet every time I feel as though something is telling me to stop.” His own heart, unsure if it can truly bear the burden of the answer. Leo’s eyes, the most honest part of him, always gleaming like rebellion yet sometimes clouded with loss. The words Leo had spoken on their fateful stage of meeting, the sun a crooked crown and his mouth full of daggers. “I just want to learn more about him. Why must he make that so difficult?”

“Not all of us can wear our hearts on our sleeves like you do, Tsukasa-chan,” Arashi reminds him politely, leaning closer to the mirror. “Sometimes we have things we need to hide; ugly things, monstrous things, things we believe will make others think less of us. It’s just like that.”

Ugly things. Tsukasa thinks of Leo talking so flippantly of death, of himself, as if neither of those subjects matter -- then of Leo’s laugh, like the most dazzling refrain. He stops, exhales passion, fingers curling the way one might hold a sword. “There is nothing he needs to hide from me. He is exasperating, vulgar, childish, imprudent, yet--” _That is not all. Some part of me is drawn to him, and I feel it always will be._ “He is our King, and I, his knight; loyal until the very day I draw my final breath. I will never falter nor yield. No matter how grotesque, there is not a word he could say to cause me to forsake him.” _I want him to trust that I will not leave. I want to trust that he will not leave._ His fingers curling tighter, and Arashi pausing to look at him, lips parted. “To defend him is not only my want, but my destiny.”

A pause, a breath of silence, and then another laugh hidden delicately behind a hand, Arashi’s eyes glimmering. “My, Tsukasa-chan, that sounds awfully romantic, don’t you think?”

“Th-- that wasn’t my intent,” Tsukasa rushes to say, and it’s right at that moment that the door to the room busts open. He whips around to see Leo larger than life itself in the doorway, as bright and poorly-timed as always, and fears his heart may stop in his chest.

“Ah, Naru, Suo~, here you are!” Leo throws his arms wide to exaggerate his point. “You’re always nagging me for being late, but everyone’s waiting on you! I thought maybe you’d both been abducted, gone to space without me, wouldn’t that have been the greatest joke ever told? If he’s up there watching, God would’ve really laughed at that one, wahaha!”

“Oh dear, it seems my makeup may have taken too long. A girl just has to make an impression, Ousama,” Arashi is explaining in the background, but it’s drowned out by the thunderous roar of Tsukasa’s pulse in his ears. His heart hadn’t stopped, after all. He thinks that would have been preferable.

“Leader. How long have you been listening?”

It’s just as he feared. Leo’s eyes, the most honest part of him, flashing nervous like a cornered animal before he can mask it with a stunning play at a confused expression. He even rubs the back of his neck for good measure. “Huh? I don’t know what you’re talking about, though? Should I?”

Tsukasa’s nails digging into his palms, his voice an unsteady thing forced into a weapon. “How long?”

His insistence makes Leo freeze, eyes wide, and at that Arashi rises and passes by the two of them, clearly sensing the change in the atmosphere. “I’ll go let the others know we’ll all be out soon.” Before Tsukasa can protest, it’s just the two of them, the door gently closed, and the tension in the room is suffocating. Leo is holding his gaze, but for once it’s not quite so simple to read, a veritable nebula of emotion that Tsukasa can’t distinctify; this, too, feels like some sort of challenge, looking away like admitting defeat.

A small set of decades later, Leo slowly relaxes again, scrunches up his nose. “The whole time,” he admits, and then frantically holds out his hands, as if only now realizing what that implies. “I wasn’t trying to, though! It’s just that when I got here I could hear you talking, and I haven’t heard you sound that way since--” _Since Judgment_ , Tsukasa knows, but as Leo is Leo, he veers off in another direction entirely. “And it’s like, I didn’t even know you thought all of this, like I was doing it on purpose, but it’s not--” he advances, words flowing like one of his compositions, the flood unstoppable now that the dam has broken, and Tsukasa takes an involuntary step back. “It’s not your fault? It’s just, mm, it’s like Naru said, you know? This Knights, the Knights your idiot King tried to destroy, the Knights you protected, this is my home, and I…”

He’s still coming closer, even as Tsukasa’s back hits the wall. He doesn’t say it, but Tsukasa can hear it nonetheless: _I don’t want it to be ruined_. _I don’t have anywhere else._ There are so many words on the tip of Tsukasa’s tongue, so many trembling and devoted things he wants to say now that Leo is finally talking, but his breathless voice can find only one. “You do not have to be frightened of me.”

“I’m _terrified_ of you,” Leo presses, eyes wild, and finally he’s in front of Tsukasa, his hands grasping desperately at the lapels of Tsukasa’s blazer. “Because you just showed up here out of nowhere and you don’t know anything, you don’t _know_ , but you say things like you have faith in me, like no matter what I’ve done you won’t leave, and…” Leo too close. Their faces too close. The words quiet and shivering, like a confession. “Because I believe you.”

Leo kisses him. It’s so fleeting it’s almost like Tsukasa could have imagined the entire thing, but he isn’t Leo; his imagination couldn’t invent this feeling, Leo’s mouth warm and soft against his, the meeting of two stars like an explosion bursting through his veins, the breath stolen from his lungs and his heartbeat replaced with a song he’d never known before this. Leo doesn’t release him when he parts, keeps talking like nothing happened, tone more serious than Tsukasa has heard it since--

“Nn. It’s not much to talk about, but I’ll tell you one day. If you want to hear the stupid story of a pathetic King who ran away, if you want to hear why he dragged himself back into his castle to stay, I swear I’ll tell you everything. You just have to wait for me.”

Tsukasa is left reeling by the speed at which Leo operates, the sheer hurricane that is their King, his fingertips pressed to his lips in bewildered disbelief, cheeks flushed and breathing shallow. Did that really just happen? _Why?_ He’s only been handed even more questions, but right now Leo is the one waiting on an answer, and his answer hasn't changed. If anything it's become more obvious, so obvious he can’t help but breathe a laugh, a smile lingering in the corners of his mouth. “If you heard everything, you must know I will do nothing but wait. Until my sword is rusted to the earth, until my shield crumbles to pieces, until what remains of me is swept off this grand battlefield, I will always be here.” _There isn't anywhere else I could be but by your side._

The grin that illuminates Leo’s face in response is the most breathtaking thing Tsukasa has ever seen, but then there’s a lazy knock on the door and an even lazier call. “Suuchan, if you don’t drag Ousama out here soon, I think Secchan is going to have a nervous breakdown. Again.”

“Noted. We are on our way,” Tsukasa calls back on instinct, and before he can even process it Leo is off of him and several steps away, arms spread out again and eyes twinkling, that grin even wider. Like nothing is different. Like trying to catch smoke.

“Well? Hurry, hurry! Let’s get going, Newbie!”

Tsukasa stares at him blankly. “Leader, you _must_ be joking. Surely you remember my name by now. You have to remember, right? You just ki--”

Leo bursts into laughter before he can even finish the sentence, his movements towards the door more like dancing, lively and free. “That never gets any older, you know. It wouldn’t work so well if you’d stop falling for it!”

Huffing, Tsukasa pushes himself away from the wall, trailing after Leo with a frown. “It would not work so well if I trusted you to remember it in the first place.”

Leo pauses just before exiting, looking over his shoulder with one of those expressions that always catches Tsukasa off guard, both soft and solemn. “Then trust me, Suou Tsukasa.”

He leaves the room without allowing any time for a response, which is just what Tsukasa should expect, Leo always slipping through his fingers somehow. There’s something else to those words, and Tsukasa isn’t sure what it means, what _any_ of it means, how Leo can change everything and nothing all at once as if bending the entire universe to suit his will. Their foolish, impractical, untamed and incredible King. What he is sure of, however, carries in his heart once he finally gathers the composure to follow Leo out, is that this is certainly his destiny. To accompany that mad King wherever his whims may take him. To give him a reason to let his fear give way to faith. To wait on him. To trust him.

Leo may be seafoam, but sometimes he’s the ocean. Legendary, magnificent, and here to stay.


	5. i, icarus / you, the sun | kaoshu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was a request from wabby, who asked for kaoshu comfort featuring kaoru waking up from a bad dream crying. wab is my kaoru partner in kaoshu crime, and i wrote this extra sweet because she needed some huge comfort hours. enjoy! ♡

They’ve only been sleeping together for two weeks when it happens.

Something disturbs Shu’s sleep. It’s subtle, at first, simply a nagging feeling that draws him out of slumber. Then, it claws him into the present all at once. He’s always been a light sleeper, and a sound that he dimly recognizes as Kaoru whimpering beckons him awake in mere seconds. Tangled in the plush blankets of Shu’s bed with only the cold slant of the nightscape drifting through the window to keep them company, Shu’s eyes are bleary and his movements less than precise as he rolls over and pushes himself up onto his elbow to get a better look at Kaoru.

Kaoru’s jaw is clenched, hands fisted and flexing in the sheets, eyes pressed hard shut as a pained whine escapes his mouth. His hair is tousled, his skin shining with a thin sheen of sweat. Just a nightmare, then, yet Shu’s heart is so loud a thing when worried. “Kaoru?”

A tear slips down Kaoru’s cheek, and Shu’s fingers are there to catch it, to rest gingerly against his skin. His breathing trembles. “Kaoru, wake up. You’re dreaming.”

Kaoru reaches up to weakly clasp at one of Shu’s hands in his sleep, tears flowing freely now. His voice is uncharacteristically hoarse, rasping its way from his throat, but the single syllable it manages to form is unmistakable, pleading in its nature. “Shu.”

Only vaguely present in the realm of existence, Shu does the only thing it occurs to him to do in response; he presses a soft and coaxing kiss to Kaoru’s mouth. _I’m here_ , the kiss says, and maybe something like, _please come back to me_.

Against his lips, Kaoru gasps softly, and his grip on Shu’s hand tightens to an almost painful extent as he wakes shaking. Muffled cries tremble his body, but through them, tender and breathless, a realization -- “Shu. You’re with me.”

Shu sighs gratefully, scrutinizing Kaoru as he pulls away as if to verify he isn’t physically wounded in some way. Operating still on sheer instinct -- or, at least, that is the lie he will tell himself later -- he curls his arms around Kaoru’s shoulders and gathers him close to his chest, holding him firm as he sinks back down into the bed. “Naturally, of course I am. I would never do something so foolish as leave you.”

Kaoru’s tears stain fabric as he nuzzles against Shu’s heartbeat, his fingers clutching at Shu’s waist, searching for something grounding. His pulse is still frantic, tone unstable. “In my dream,” he whispers, “you did. Or… You were going to.”

The mere thought strikes Shu as lightning in the white noise of a tempest. How often has he lived the same nightmare, both dreaming and far too awake? Those he loves as rose petals crushed between his grasp too tight, drifting away on the air, going or gone. Those he cherishes disappearing. So he grips tighter, tighter, tighter until it’s suffocating, until it bruises, until the only options are to fade away or wither to death in his grasp. Such a life he’s lived until Kaoru, who has taught him that you can free things and trust them to stay right where you leave them. The juxtaposition, then, of Kaoru fearing what he fears, and the meaning behind it: that he is splendid enough to love Shu and still worry that, one day, he may be gone.

“Don’t go,” Kaoru is murmuring against him, nails scratching against Shu’s skin with the force of his hold. Shu pulls him closer, one hand slipping up into Kaoru’s hair to run his fingers through it, slow and soothing, while the other splays against his back to steady him. Feel his breathing as it hitches and stutters, but gradually starts to even out again.

To be the one who is viewed as leaving instead of being left. Shu resolves to provide all of the words he wished had been said to him, even if only breathed between late night and moonlight.

“I am not going anywhere,” he reassures in a murmur, petting and cradling him. “I cherish you far too much, you see. It would be nigh impossible for me to separate myself from something so beautiful, so lovely, so flawless in its flaws -- from you.”

Because Kaoru may not seem fragile, but Shu knows him more intimately than most now. Knows his insecurities, his uncertainties, the chips in that fragile golden heart. Those he’s traced with his own fingertips too many times to count, trying to heal where there’s no room for stitching. He’s memorized them; where they are, what hurts them the most, how not to damage them worse. He handles them with as much care as he knows how.

He knows that Kaoru, like himself, is simply afraid of being abandoned. Being alone.

The records of their scars may not line up perfectly, but they are born of the same hurt.

Perhaps, in some bittersweet way, that only makes them more destined for one another.

“Keep talking?” Kaoru requests softly, shifting beneath Shu’s touch with a small sniffle. Shu also knows that he’s absolutely incorrigible when it comes to praise, but, well -- he’s always been more than happy to provide it when warranted, especially given his wealth of knowledge on the minutiae of Hakaze Kaoru.

“You know, Kaoru,” Shu thinks aloud to him, stroking nimble and slender fingers through the silky down of his hair, “there is something so terribly genuine about you that makes you simply irresistible to me. I do not have to guess, with you, because you do not hide like I do. You are honest and human and artistic as such. Even moments such as these, while not ideal, I would not trade for anything else.” He pauses, searching. How to poeticize a love like this, a love that greatly outweighs the fragility of two human bodies, of skin and blood and muscle, a love that is cosmic? “I am like Icarus, and you, the sun; an ideal I am always foolishly chasing. Yet I feel as though, unlike Icarus, I will not burn to death in your light. I can only be warmed by your impossible vibrance. I can only grow, as desert flora. You nurture me, and I am reaching towards you. That is why I would not leave.” Another pause, thoughtful and weighed down with sleep. “Hm. I hope that was not too verbose?”

Kaoru muffles what sounds like a mixture between a laugh and a sob, the noise like a violinist expertly drawing a bow across the strings of Shu’s heart and causing it to sing out in tune. “I didn’t quite get all of it,” he admits blearily, “but it was very romantic, and…” A breath, the words too sincere, because Kaoru does not hide. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m so glad I did it, you know?”

To think that Shu is something worthy of being _deserved_ , earned, something to fight for and to win. That honor goes entirely to Kaoru, even if he can’t quite say it yet. Even if he’s presently spilled some modicum of emotion, some inconsequential fraction of an immeasurable devotion, and still finds himself unable to say it. Shu shakes his head, feeling the startling sensation of a burning at the backs of his eyes as he scratches his nails gently against Kaoru’s scalp. “Shhh, now. You do not have to speak. Relax,” he whispers, hoping Kaoru won’t notice the wavering in the words as he swallows hard past threatening tears of his own. “Focus on your breathing. Slowly. In,” he prompts, guides, waiting until he feels the movement beneath his hand as Kaoru obeys, “and out. Good, good boy. Simply continue breathing.”

So Kaoru does, each breath loosening up the tension in his body and slowing the flow of any tears that may still remain into nothing. Breathes until his fingers slowly loosen their grip, breathes until he’s melting into Shu’s grasp and touch with a pleased little hum. Shu praises all the while, soft and encouraging words that drift into the air and fade away like nothing of consequence. It’s easier, to pamper and to spoil than to acknowledge the wildfire burning in his chest, aching his bones. There will be time for that later, anyway; right now, his priority is in one place, one person.

This wealth of a soul bundled into such a small boy, whose fragments are presently realigning in his arms. The sound of it the most poetic symphony.

“Mmh. Shu,” Kaoru yawns at him, tilting his head up just a bit. Shu catches a flash of honey eyes, red-rimmed and tired, and he’s certain that whatever Kaoru is about to request he will grant without question. “Can I have a kiss before I go back to sleep? Just one. So I can take you with me.”

Love is so delightfully warm, and like that same violinist, Kaoru knows just how to play him. “Just one,” Shu agrees, slipping a hand to Kaoru’s chin to tilt it up further, beckon him. He moves without thinking, bending to Shu’s whims, and it’s both dangerous and thrilling that he does. The simple fact that Kaoru trusts him continues to present itself, and Shu continues to be entirely unable to comprehend it.

Kaoru’s sleep-touched and dreaming gaze is so divine in the cast of the moon. The reflection of himself. The flame, and Shu is the moth, fated to dance forever around that which may harm him but that which he wants above all else.

The kiss is short and sweet, Kaoru sighing pleased into Shu’s mouth and yielding to him entire, becoming pliant and tender against him. He’s so darling, like this. How is Shu ever meant to even consider leaving him alone? He can’t imagine ever introducing harm to something so fragile and so full of love, can’t imagine offering anything that isn’t holy and precious to such a divine creature. It’s with his fingertips brushing over Kaoru’s cheek as he thinks it that Shu realizes his own mistake: there’s no way he can possibly stop at simply one kiss.

So in the end, it’s six kisses later that Kaoru settles back against his chest, a smile in his drowsy murmur of thanks. He clutches hard to Shu, as if some part of him is still afraid that Shu may slip away the moment he drifts out of this realm of consciousness again, and in counterpoint Shu holds him as close as he can. The only inches of space between them linger where absolutely necessary, and even those, Shu is sure, are full of kindness.

“Sleep,” Shu whispers, resting his face in Kaoru’s hair, breathing in the floral scent that blankets him. Kaoru, a flower bed of adoration, fresh blooms budding with every touch. So Shu rubs serene and comforting circles into his back to beckon dozens of soft-petalled roses, filling him only with things most delicate and beautiful. These will not crumble beneath his grasp. He will leave them where they, like him, reach for the sun, and they will live to be vibrant red. “I will be here all night, come morning light as well, and for so many cycles of so many days thereafter. Do not fear.”

Kaoru makes a soft noise of assent, shifting to get comfortable again, and Shu smiles. He truly is good -- too good. Shu wonders if he knows, if there will ever be enough words to vocalize, that Kaoru’s existence has changed him. That if Shu’s life is a timeline it would be split into two halves: before Kaoru, and after Kaoru. That if Shu were ever to leave, it would only be to return with something extravagant to repay a debt he’s not sure Kaoru knows he’s owed. A garden. An orchestra. The sun itself.

Shu hums a lullaby Kiryuu’s mother taught him when he was younger until Kaoru drifts off into far more pleasant dreams, and naturally, he keeps his promise.

Kaoru never has the nightmare again.


	6. us young nobles | torikasa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was a request from joey, who asked for torikasa sharing a parfait after the management conversation where tsukasa orders the last one right in front of tori. enjoy! ♡

“What a shame, Tori-kun.”

Tsukasa supposes he should at least feel the slightest bit guilty for stealing the last parfait straight out from beneath Tori’s hands, but the Himemiya family’s prince really should have seen it coming. After all, when _aren't_ they competing? There’s hardly a moment they breathe the same air that they aren’t trying to one-up one another. That’s simply how they’ve come to live, and one can never allow a surprise attack to go unanticipated. If Tori were to falter so much as to forget that, even over something as simple as a dessert, it isn’t _his_ fault. 

However, he must admit the sweet doesn’t taste quite as sweet as it should with the way Tori is sulking across the cafeteria. Not the way he’d normally sulk, the way Tsukasa always anticipates, perhaps hurling insults but always spoiled and pouting and throwing a tantrum all the way to Yuzuru, no -- a sulk that Tsukasa recognizes as something markedly more dour. He’s sitting all alone, his knees drawn to his chest and his chin in one hand as he draws idle patterns across the table with his index finger. He looks as though he could be on the brink of tears, if the pitiable frown pulling his brows low is any indication.

Tsukasa isn’t particularly adept at reading the atmosphere, but this is something he recognizes, something he has experience with. It’s too fragile and aching not to pick up on, and it registers with a feeling of discomfort Tsukasa just can’t quite shake.

Tori looks so painfully _lonely_.

The thought simply doesn’t sit right. He isn’t quite sure what he did so wrong, or even if anything he did was necessarily the catalyst itself, but there is one thing he knows: he must make it right somehow. Despite pride and familial feuds, he can’t dwell idly by if he’s responsible for a misstep so harsh.

The next day, Tori is sitting alone once more, and Tsukasa thanks whatever powers above may be looking out for him for the fortune. He can’t quite grasp why his heart is pounding in his chest as he carefully carries the fluffiest, creamiest, sweetest, and most pink parfait he could possibly have ordered over to Tori’s table. Perhaps it’s because he feels as though he’s entering enemy territory completely unarmed. This rebels entirely against his better judgment. That must be the reason -- or, at least, he suspects it’s at least one of them. Yet, still, it feels as though it’s the right thing to do, so he shall carry on. He will risk an ambush for this.

As he reaches the table and stands in front of Tori, he holds the parfait in one hand, habitually fixing his hair and blazer with the other. If he is, in fact, to be ambushed, he should at least look proper. Dress ready for death, or some such similar mantra drilled into his head when he was little more than a child. He clears his throat awkwardly when even his movements don’t seem to catch Tori’s attention. “Tori-kun?”

Tori’s eyes are lost when they dart up to him, carrying surprise rather than ill intent. It would seem he was truly lost in a stupor. Then, his gaze flicks down to the parfait and back up to Tsukasa, and finally suspicion begins to creep in along the softened edges of that look. “What’s this?”

Well, that is an excellent question. Tsukasa clears his throat, offering the parfait out to him. “A gift.”

“Eh? That’s stupid. I don’t need pittance from a Suou,” Tori huffs, crossing his arms and looking away as he taps his foot against the floor in irritation. All at once a young master once again, or at least a semblance of one that Tsukasa has come to recognize. It would be too easy to retract the offer, play it off as some sort of cruel joke, but he thinks of the way Tori looked so small in the wake of his previous endeavor and the idea dies as quickly as it presents itself. It still takes all of the self-control he has to bite his tongue rather than biting back, counting to ten in English for good measure, but he manages.

Instead, he gracefully slides into the seat next to Tori’s. Tori makes a decidedly indelicate noise that sounds like a squawk, jolting away from him and staring at him as if he’s some sort of foreign creature.

“It is nothing resembling a pittance. It is…” Tsukasa pauses, biting his lip and struggling with a more suitable word as he sets the parfait down on the table between them. It has two spoons marking opposite sides like claiming flags, and his eyes dart over to meet Tori’s. “Think of it as something more like a peace offering. This is a temporary truce, Tori-kun.”

“A peace offering?” Tori questions promptly, that haughty tone creeping into his voice as a devilish smirk twists up his delicate features. As irritating as it is, Tsukasa must admit it’s vastly superior to seeing him the way he had been. That Tori is unfamiliar and haunting. This one he can, at least, manage, even if it may drive him out of his mind. “A peace offering from the mighty prince ‘I’m old money so I’m _sooo_ much better than you’ Suou Tsukasa? Ahaha, oh my god, I _have_ to record this.”

Tori moves to stand, likely to make good on his words and do exactly that, and without thinking Tsukasa grabs his wrist and pulls him back down into his seat. In an instant, that scheming look of Tori’s has gone straight past questioning or threatening and has been entirely replaced with one of shock. Glimmering eyes wide, cheeks flushed and lips parted in surprise, he looks… _Charming_ , Tsukasa absolutely loathes himself for thinking.

“What? It’s not enough that you’ve gotta manhandle me, now you’ve gotta start being all weird too? Quit staring or I’ll kill you,” Tori mutters self-consciously, tugging his arm free of Tsukasa’s now slack hold. It’s dimly notable that he makes no further effort to put more distance between them. “And let go of me. Jeez, you’re acting strange even for _you_ , and that’s saying a lot. You’d think we’d never met before or something.”

The attempt at a slight is forgotten as soon as it’s spoken. Tsukasa truly hadn’t realized he’d been doing either of those things, and he catches himself on the precipice of saying something foolish like _I do not think we have, like this_. After all, it’s not as though they necessarily spend time together the way any two common folk would; as royal rivals, bickering is normalcy, for them. In class, in the hallways, even here. Every space in Yumenosaki is their battlefield, the two of them always too focused on keeping up appearances or emerging victorious to truly take notice of their opponent. Does Tsukasa know the first thing about Tori, and so, has he ever truly _met_ him? Those family parties they were both forced to attend when they were children don’t count in the slightest, and most of Tsukasa’s memories involve spats and faux competition even back then.

Ever since they were young, they’ve never allowed themselves any of the freedom necessary to drop the act. They really haven’t changed, have they? It’s both comforting and a bit unnerving.

Rather than address any of this, Tsukasa flexes his hand as he pulls it politely back into his lap and swallows, tilting his head down in deference and letting his hair drift over his face. Ambush it is, it would seem, and through nothing but fault of his own. So he relents. What would his ancestors think of him? More importantly, in this moment, is it truly so pressing a question to ask? Has it ever been? “Ah, you are right. I must apologize for my unseemly behavior, Tori-kun. I am not sure what I was thinking.”

If he expects another attack, it doesn’t come. Instead, Tori regards him with a wary look as he relaxes back into his seat, rubbing curiously at the skin of his wrist where Tsukasa’s hand had lingered only seconds ago. He seems as though he’s still expecting an attack himself, neither of them accustomed to this new and neutral territory. His tone makes an attempt at returning to normal, but doesn’t quite succeed. “What’s all this about, anyway? Like, it’s not like we’re not awful to one another all the time? It’s kind of our birthright, isn’t it? So, it’s su~per boring if you apologize.”

Despite the words, Tori does tentatively reach out to turn the parfait and examine it, a little shimmer of joy in his gaze at the sight of it. An offer Tori can’t possibly refuse, fluffy and pastel and perfect. A bullseye. One of the only ones Tsukasa feels he may hit, today.

Yet, how to put this delicately? Tsukasa hesitates, muffles a dainty cough into his fist as he raises his head. “We are, and do not mistake this for a complete surrender. It is simply that… Hm, this is vexing.” He laces his fingers together, fidgeting as he thinks. How honest to be? How to utilize words not as weapons, but as tools that will bridge a gap? “The point of contention is that I do not have many friends myself, but I cannot help but notice that aside from Fushimi-senpai, you are typically alone. Thus, I could not help but want to reach out a hand to you, even if only this once.” Tori frowns, tapping his fingers against glass, and Tsukasa shakes his head, already anticipating the response. “Not as a form of pity or charity, but because… Ah, everyone deserves to enjoy themselves sometimes, even us young nobles. Do you not agree, Tori-kun?”

Tori merely stares at him for a few moments, brow furrowed as if he’s trying to piece together a puzzle. As if he’s still convinced this must be some sort of Trojan horse, a trap lingering somewhere within the words, a hidden ulterior motive. An illustration of Tsukasa’s point.

Tsukasa sighs, finally swallowing his pride as he picks up both spoons and offers one out to Tori. Moving himself out of castling, leaving his side of the board free to checkmate if Tori is so inclined. “All I mean to say is… Will you allow me the privilege of sharing a dessert with a friend, Tori-kun?”

It appears to be the outright use of the word that does it. Something like disbelief registers on Tori’s face, quickly chased by excitement as he smiles. A genuine smile, lighting up his face and making him look for once every bit the angel his unit theme requires he pretend to be. Tsukasa has to look away as Tori takes the spoon and their hands brush for just a moment. Ah, but this is all so new, and can he be blamed for enjoying it? Can he be blamed for deriving a sense of satisfaction, even happiness, from this small and precious thing known as brief companionship?

“Well, this isn’t what I was expecting, but if you’re gonna bribe me with desserts I guess I have no choice but to say thanks or something.” There’s a thoughtful pause. Tori pops a bite of the parfait into his mouth and averts his eyes, the words muffled and messy. As is typical, he doesn’t mind his manners, nor does he offer a thanks, but perhaps what he provides instead is more. “I’m glad you’re not giving up. That would be real stupid of you, you know. I think you’ll actually be a really good King someday?”

Tsukasa’s stomach flutters at the praise, and he busies himself with nudging at the dessert with the edge of his own spoon, only briefly glancing up at Tori from the corner of his eye. “Likewise, future Emperor. I am honored to be locked in a fated and ceaseless duel with you until the end of days.” A small smile crosses his face unbidden as he catches Tori’s cheeky grin in his peripheral vision. “Though, let us agree on less bloodshed between the two of us, yes?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Tori agrees emphatically as he takes his cue to dig in. Though he’s surely still too proud to admit it aloud, his low sound of satisfaction around the second bite is enough to tell Tsukasa that he’s chosen well. A second bullseye, the arrow splitting straight through the first. At least Tori doesn’t speak with his mouth full, this time. “That’s not really our scene, you know? I think more sugar and contest and less gruesome stuff like war. Don’t think that means you’re out of my line of fire, though.” Tori gestures threateningly with the spoon, pointing it at Tsukasa as he takes his own bite, unfazed. Tori’s tone is too arrogant. The parfait is too sweet. In other words, it’s delicious and perfect. “We’ll show everyone what it really means to be royalty.”

Tsukasa swallows before he laughs, quietly. How Tori of a speech it is, if it can even be considered one. “We certainly will. I look forward to it, my dear friend.”

_Friend_. Truly, the word does sound pleasant. They wind away the lunch break eating and talking -- about anything and everything, class and their eccentric unitmates and family and music and sweets -- Tsukasa thinks that maybe, at least sometimes, rival and friend can be one and the same. Perhaps that’s something their older alumni lost sight of, somewhere along the way, or perhaps it’s just something they never knew. Something their era still has yet to teach them. What a worthy lesson it will be.

As they bond over saccharine desolation, if they keep talking long after the parfait is gone, if Tori accidentally flicks whipped cream onto Tsukasa’s face with another gesture of the spoon and brushes it from his cheek with undue softness even as he laughs, if Tsukasa flushes in response and a quiet moment finds him loosely holding Tori’s hand in his own beneath the table and vehemently denying it later, well --

Tsukasa did call a temporary truce, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yuuki: both of these boys are lonely and actually really want to be around one another if they'd just drop their facades long enough to admit it properly.  
> me, clenching my fists: well, i guess i have to do something about this, then.


	7. what we've become | shuleo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was another request from joey, who asked for shuleo during measurements / a fitting. as we both feel very strongly about this ship, it sort of became something much more, but, well. enjoy! ♡

If there has been one presence Shu has been regarding with a notable amount of dread ever since he checked his handwritten schedule earlier in the day, it has been Tsukinaga Leo’s.

His existence in and of itself isn’t necessarily infuriating, so long as he’s quiet. The issue is that Tsukinaga Leo is could fit many descriptors, but “quiet” is rarely ever one of them, and he’s especially insufferable during his appointments with Shu. It is truly remarkable that as if Shu isn’t doing him a service by lending his craft to Leo’s ruined remnants of a unit, Leo must always insist on being an absolutely intolerable disaster about it.

Then again, Leo is an absolutely intolerable disaster in most situations, as far as Shu has observed. His time away from Yumenosaki has done nothing but intensify that particular aspect of his personality to nearly unbearable levels.

Shu won’t admit that he’s missed him, and he certainly won’t admit that he’s glad to finally see him back in the club room as though nothing has changed. Even if everything has.

“Is it really such an impossible feat for you to _stay still_?” Shu scolds for what feels like easily the twentieth time in the past five minutes, shifting the measuring tape wrapped around Leo’s waist between his delicate hands. Strictly speaking, it isn’t necessary that he do this; thus far, none of Leo’s measurements have differed terribly much. (Though it does register, faintly worrisome, that Leo is distinctly thinner, more malnourished than when Shu saw him last. Has he been taking care of himself? Does Shu, of all people, have any right to ask the question if he could even swallow his pride long enough to do so?) However, strictly speaking, Shu must always show only his best work whenever possible. “If you continue squirming about in such a distasteful manner, your measurements will be inaccurate.”

“Aaah, but that’s so boring~” Leo grumbles back, talking with his hands as he says it as if it’s purposeful and specifically meant to irritate Shu. Which wouldn’t be surprising in the least, if Shu is being honest. “I can’t just stay still! There are so many things to do, people to see, songs to--”

“Not right now,” Shu interrupts firmly, sighing as he mentally catalogues the vague number he believes to be correct before moving to measure Leo’s height. “Regardless, need I remind you again, Tsukinaga, this is a practical and merely obligatory exercise; it is not meant to be _exciting_.”

“Then maybe it should be,” Leo replies with an audible and almost regal scoff in his voice. No matter how many things have changed about him, this much has not: that he expects the world to simply submit to his many wants, to shift to accommodate his wishes and his alone. It so often does, after all. “Maybe then you wouldn’t have people like me who move around all the time. Maybe it’s yo~ur fault.”

“You are the only one who does this,” Shu points out in response, carefully avoiding the obvious bait about where any fault should lie. He will participate in a battle, but he will not be responsible for initiating one. So, instead, he takes an audibly smug satisfaction in the result of his measurement. “Hm. I suppose this will be simple, then. It would appear you have not grown even a centimeter.”

Hook.

“Mm, haven’t I? Wait, really? I could swear I--” Leo only pauses once he’s already in the middle of standing taller, up on his tiptoes as if that will help anything. Then, he catches the subtle teasing in the comment, and unlike Shu, he takes the bait.

No matter how many things have changed about him, this much has not: Leo always takes the bait.

Which is _fun_ , if Shu is being honest.

Line.

Leo turns all daggers immediately as if a snake shedding its skin, showing flashes and glimpses of the old sly King that Shu recognizes, a threatening glint in his eyes and underlining his tone. “Hey, hey~ Shu, was that a jab about how short I am? Do you really have to resort to such underhanded tactics, hm? I think you’ve lost your touch. Besides, I still have time to grow, you know!”

Shu waves a hand dismissively as he steps back, laying the measuring tape with care on the work table behind him. “I would never stoop so low as to do such a thing, but if that is the manner in which you took my comment, I am not to blame for that.”

Sinker should come next.

Instead, an uninvited interruption.

A third voice, high and sweet.

“Fufu, please forgive Shu-kun for acting in such a rude manner. He’s really such a kind boy deep down, you know~”

Shu freezes in place as Leo’s eyes dart to Mademoiselle immediately. She’s seated delicately in a plush chair off to the side, and if anyone has noticed her today they haven’t spoken a word, but of course Leo would. Of course _he_ would. A sharp grin breaks across his face, and he slips away from Shu entirely to examine her closer, leaning over to bring them to the same level. Shu tenses on instinct, wary of Leo’s inherent clumsiness, but Leo doesn’t move to touch just yet. Merely admiring.

“Saaay, I remember her! I didn’t know she talked now -- or, that you used her for that, I guess?” Leo’s shrewdness is genuinely terrifying at times, but his laugh is simply genuine. “Nn, that’s weird to say, but I’m glad you’re using her for something! I’ve always thought she was too beautiful to go to waste just sitting around here.”

As horribly cliché as it is to think it, let alone feel it, Shu could swear his heart skips a beat.

“Beautiful?” He questions warily, still not moving but shifting his eyes over to them. It almost looks as though Leo is bowing to her, one hand pressed to his chest and his ponytail spilling over his shoulder. Shu hates that he thinks it, even for a second.

“Mm! Like, you can tell you take really good care of her?” Leo punctuates this with a gentle pat to her head. Shu hadn’t recalled Leo as a person capable of being gentle under any circumstance, let alone this specific one, which is particularly striking. “Even if you try to hide under all those prickly thorns, you’re su~per transparent. It’s really rare to see you do something out of love instead of spite, you know, so I always thought -- you must cherish her?”

How is it that Leo always simply _knows_ , and speaks what he knows without thinking? How is it that Leo can sweep back into Yumenosaki and simply lay pieces of his soul bare as he rediscovers them, as if he never left at all and Shu didn’t spend so much time carefully constructing walls around them in his absence? How does he possibly have the right to do such a thing?

“Oh my, what a flatterer,” Mademoiselle giggles with glee. “I’m happy to see you well too, Leo-kun~ Shu-kun was quite worried about you, after all.”

Keen green eyes. A smile that appears as a plasticine optical illusion, that doesn’t quite reach the rest of his face, that says a bit too much. Shu’s skin crawling with the discomfort of feeling, of being human and being exposed as such.

“Was he now?”

“That is quite enough, Mademoiselle,” Shu mutters decisively, turning to busy himself with organizing the tools on his work table. It’s a calculated move, one that makes it more difficult for Leo to read his expression, which he’s sure he can’t quite manage to scold into something appropriately neutral. Of course, that won’t be enough to stop Leo.

Because as often as Leo takes the bait, he almost never takes a hint.

Actually, perhaps he does and merely ignores it. That seems far more likely for a man of his admitted intellect, currently encroaching on Shu’s personal space and standing right behind him despite clear social cues to excuse himself. That he does it knowingly makes it the slightest fraction less, or more, vexing. Shu isn’t really certain. He isn’t really certain of anything when it comes to Leo.

“I didn’t know the godly Sovereign had time to spare remembering, let alone worrying about, us mere mortals,” Leo teases with something sobering in his tone. Something that says he’s not being as playful as he lets on. Something both thankful and hurt. “I’m honored, Shu.”

“I have your measurements now,” Shu replies evenly, not raising his eyes. “You are free to leave.”

“Mm, I don’t think you really want me to, though?” There’s something unidentifiable in Leo’s voice now, a nameless emotion that slips through Shu’s defenses like a phantom and caresses his guarded heart with cold fingers. Leo leans up to grip his shoulders, and Shu’s instinct is to shrug him off, but something gives him pause. Perhaps it’s the familiarity of the action, something so recognizable from back when they were friends -- and are they still friends, Shu catches himself wondering, right now, or do they linger in some maddening liminal space with no name? He allows Leo to turn him, face to face, and a rare glimpse of melancholy in Leo’s gentled gaze says: _I don’t want to go, either. I’m sorry that I left._

Involuntarily, Shu relaxes, nearly limp in his grasp.

He tells himself it’s because Leo is impossible, and he’ll get what he wants either way.

It’s easier to believe than the truth would be.

“Broken,” Leo answers finally with a short, empty laugh and an equally pitiful smile. “That’s how I’ve been, I think? Broken and gone, far, far away, further away than you’ve ever seen me.” The honesty hurts, the tempo of his sentences off rhythm and unnerving. “Scared, too. Really scared. I’ve been a coward, if you can imagine that. But now I’m here, and I’m still scared, but I’m healing. Hm, yeah, that’s the word. I’m trying to, anyway.” A pause. A questioning tilt of his head. “And I think that’s the same for you?”

Shu bristles, his jaw clenching. “It is unspeakably presumptuous of you to simply show up here after God only knows how long and assume you know how I feel, Tsukinaga,” he replies, but he can’t look Leo in the eye as he says it, because that’s the real heart of the matter, isn’t it? That Leo wasn’t here. That Leo hasn’t been here. Shu doesn’t begrudge him that, has no room to begrudge him that, letting pain shrink him into something so small and faint he could be considered gone himself. There is nothing left of the Sovereign of Yumenosaki but a nightmare, so no, it isn’t about the leaving. It’s not a matter of blame, but of regret. Loneliness.

Leo fell, and Shu had no time to catch him before his bloodied body followed, and Leo wasn’t _here_.

One of his only friends.

Are they still friends?

“Then tell me,” Leo insists, slipping his hands down to hold Shu’s. His gaze snaps back to Leo involuntarily at the gesture, and he looks far too composed for the conversation they’re having, which is unfair, he thinks. There are so many things about Leo that are unfair. A further tilt of the head, the sunlight catching beautifully in his hair, making him fire or a monarch or a phoenix. “We’re old friends, Shu. Kinda messy old friends, or rivals, or whatever you wanna label us to keep yourself arm’s length from reality, but friends as far as I’m concerned. Won’t you tell your friend the tale he was gone too long to hear?”

Shu opens his mouth to respond, hands tensing in Leo’s at the idea that he has the privilege to speak like this, but Leo frowns, cutting him off. “I know I wasn’t around. I’ve gotta tell you about that, too. The thing is, there are so many rumors about us, but we both know they aren’t true, right?” A hum of thought. “Or they are, and we’ve just gotta accept that. Sometimes we’ve gotta accept the ugliest parts of each other. So no matter how gruesome or unflattering or weak or painful the real story is, this mad King will still listen.”

It’s tangled web they weave, the two of them, and the implication of Leo’s request is so much. What is there to tell? What can he say that hasn’t been said, that doesn’t paint him as the villain that he is, the shadow lurking unwelcome amongst Yumenosaki’s corridors? Yet Leo implies that even that satirical slant of him is acceptable, and if there’s one person who knows those tragic comedies himself firsthand, it’s Leo.

Shu wants more than those crude replicas. So Leo wants the same.

It’s a tangled web, an absolute mess, and one wrong move could draw it tighter. One wrong move could leave them irreparable. Yet Shu wants to know, and despite the carefully built facade that clearly broadcasts otherwise to everyone else, wants to be known.

Are they friends? Yes, it would appear so, and no matter how many things have changed about him, this much has not: Leo is kind.

“Alright,” Shu exhales slowly. “We shall talk about it, but this goes no further than you. It does not leave this room.”

“I swear it,” Leo vows, leaning up to press a kiss to Shu’s cheek. An old habit, so incredibly old that Shu had almost forgotten about the casual nature of it, but this time the sensation of Leo’s chapped lips against his skin leaves his own mouth dry. It feels like a haunting. Are his hands shaking, or are Leo’s, or is their trembling one and the same? “Let’s share all of our most hideous fragments with one another. Trade blows and bathe in blood. It’ll be just like old times, won’t it?”

Just like old times, only this time the blood is theirs and the history Shu has to provide is so much worse. It is a terrifying risk. It will hurt. Shu knows this, and yet feels Leo’s pulse faint beneath his fingers, and thinks: if he has to fall to ruin, it may as well not be an endeavor ventured alone.

They talk well after sunset of things that ache like pulling shards of glass from their mouths but shatter into so many beautiful starlit pieces once they’re spoken. They have hurt others and they have hurt themselves and it all becomes reflections in the end. Shu hears the tale of Leo’s self-destruction and weaves his own in kind, the two wounds separate but parallel in their nature, equally violent and selfish and longing for mending they’re still searching for. Yet, even if only for the space of a few precious hours, the tangled web unravels, thread by delicate thread, and Shu feels, at last, no longer bound.

A single pull too hard could have strangled him, but Leo’s hands are so careful around the knots.

So yes, they are still friends, or perhaps that word isn’t quite right. Has never been quite right. Something else that exists only in a liminal space without a name, that can’t quite be defined by any language humanity has created thus far, reserved only for in-betweens and empty places and the darkest corners of battlegrounds. Something that allows an exhausted Leo to fall asleep in his lap that night with eyes weak from shed tears, looking as if he hasn’t slept properly in months. Something that causes Shu to rest his hands on Leo, resonate with the breathing of a prodigy in a body too miniscule to hold him, until he drifts off to sleep himself.

Shu intends to lie to himself about that, too, but it’s not quite so easy to believe once he sees that sunrise smile in the light of day again.

It’s much easier to admit, finally, that Shu has missed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> akira: shuleo were (close) friends before the war.  
> me, clenching my fists even tighter: i suppose _this_ is happening.
> 
> (i'm so sorry and also you're welcome, joey.)


End file.
